


The Price of Trust

by ProcrastinatingSab



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: BTHB, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Brightwell slowwwwww burn :), F/M, JT Whump, Kidnapping, Knives, Malcolm Bright Whump, Restraints, Stabbing, breaking bones?, mention of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/pseuds/ProcrastinatingSab
Summary: “I have been dreaming of this moment, Mr Bright. To be able to hold your life in my hand. I will not squeeze it out just yet. No, I will break you for what you did! I will enjoy every second, every scream. Then when you are totally broken I will BURN You”JT betrays Malcolm to save Tally.~~~This is a multi BTHB fic!Betrayal (ch1.) Grabbed by the hair (ch2.) Standing Cuffs (ch3.) Stress Position (ch4.)
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687015
Comments: 156
Kudos: 196





	1. Betrayal

Betrayal

> **Tuesday. 9:00 PM.**

"Jamie. Julian. Jason. Mmm, all out. Jake, James, Juan, John. Jen… wait, did I suggest Jensen? Yah, I suppose I did not. Is it Jensen, then?”

JT didn’t even look at him, and only grunted. Malcolm took it as a No and looked back at his phone again, striking off more wrong guesses. He was way too pleased with the list of names that start with J that he made to guess JT’s name.

“Joseph?” he asked again, arching his eyebrows.

“Just stop, man. Enough. Not today,” JT’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. He was clearly very disturbed. Malcolm put his phone away and eased in the passenger seat.

JT had been acting strange all day. He looked tense, uncharacteristically on edge; it didn't feel right. The psychologist in him wanted to analyze the detective's body language, to understand the reason behind the wrinkled eyebrows, the shaky breaths, the overly fidgety demeanor. To guess the reason as to why he was grasping the steering wheel like it was his only support, his knuckles going white with the effort. He wanted to peel the layers, understand and analyze it all, but he didn't. His keen eyes monitored every subtle change, but he forced himself to stop. The friend in him respected JT's privacy. Whatever was bothering the detective, he didn’t want to share. And so, he did not want to pry. 

When JT approached him, thirty minutes ago, and asked if he can come along to run an errand for Tally, Malcolm was surprised, but he immediately accepted. Something told him that whatever JT needed help with, will shed light on his strange behavior, and he really needed to help his friend. Truth be told, he was almost ecstatic at the prospect of being useful, that JT asked him for help, not Gil, not Dani... _him_. Granted, their relationship did not start on the right foot, but it meant a lot that the detective was trusting him and letting him in.

Malcolm will not spoil this chance.

One more reason he shut off his profiler brain.

The ride was long and boring. All Malcolm's remarks and attempts at a conversation went in smoke. Eventually, he stared through the window and silently observed the sea of trees they drove by. It was therapeutic; the constant vibration of the vehicle, the silence, and Malcolm took the chance to rest his mind and get lost in the moment. It wasn't sleeping, but it was the nearest thing to it.

He was shaken out of his stupor as the car started decelerating. They were approaching a warehouse. Malcolm speculated many destinations for this trip, Chinese takeout for Tally from a place across the country, a secret baby shower shop that sold crafts, to name a few. A foreboding warehouse was _not_ one of those things. 

They eased next to the entrance, and JT pulled the handbrakes. Malcolm could see he was visibly shaking. His obvious distress was a telltale that any amateur profiler could spot coming 3 miles away. And Malcolm did. He did have his suspicions, but he constantly kept drowning them. JT was his friend, and he trusts him.

JT looked at him- his face contorted with guilt, fear, and anguish- and he put a hand on Malcolm’s as he chocked out one strangled word.

“Sorry…”

As if on cue, and before Malcolm said anything, there was a knock on the passenger window. Malcolm turned toward the sound slowly, knowing all too well what it belonged to.

He was right.

He was staring at the barrel end of a gun.

~~~

JT could barely breathe; his heart was hammering against his chest with such intensity that he felt it in his throat. Never in his life had he been so stressed, so scared, so disgusted with himself. Never in his life had he felt so vulnerable, so hopeless. He took a shaky breath that did not reach his lungs and repeated the words he had uttered a million times since he entered the precinct this morning. _It is the only way_.

It did not make it better, did not ease the gnawing fear, did not justify what he was doing either.

 _It is the only way_. What else could he do? He was in an impossible position, an unwinnable scenario. One wrong move and he will lose it all. Any other move, and he will lose it all. There was only one course he could walk.

One of selfishness, of shame, of betrayal. _It is the only way._ The price was high, the decision gut-wrenching, but the stakes were much higher. There was no choice. _It is the only way._ Yet it did not lessen his feeling of self-loathing.

He grunted as he was pushed against the hood of his car, and two men started frisking him to see if he was carrying. Malcolm, on the other side, was undergoing the same treatment. He was very quiet, offered no comment, did not struggle; JT was sure the profiler knew by now what he had done.

He longed to explain himself, tell him his reasons, justify himself. But he also knew what he did was unforgivable, inexcusable.

 _It is the only way._ He was utter trash.

They were both manhandled into the warehouse - five men were pushing them, all armed, two of them had their weapons drawn. Three more were waiting inside- and they stopped a few feet away from the one who seemed to be in charge. He looked at them in silence for a few moments, cherishing the uneasiness in the air, and asserting his authority. It was working, the seconds stretched, and the silence threatened to choke JT, who still couldn’t bring himself to look at Bright. The brief eye contact they had while being frisked had told him everything he needed to know. He could see it in his eyes, the moment he realized what JT did, the moment he knew he was betrayed by one of his teammates, a friend even. The moment when his trust was shattered. No. JT could not meet those eyes again, not after what he did.

Thankfully the silence was broken, as the fiend in charge smirked and approached them, “Detective Tarmel. I see you did what we asked. It’s a good choice. Really. The smart one. Hello, Special Agent Bright. It's been a while."

JT clutched his hands and inhaled sharply. This was the nightmare of nightmares. His entire body was trembling; he wondered how his legs didn't buckle yet. When he next spoke, he was surprised how steady his voice was, “Tally. I need to know she’s safe.”

“Of course,” the man took the phone from his pocket and dialed a number, “I am a man of my word, after all.” He put his finger up in warning as JT opened his mouth to talk. “Yes, Vito. The detective wants to talk to his wife, put her on the phone.”

The moment the phone was turned to face JT, all his self-preservation gave way. The moment he saw his wife, the love of his life, staring back at him with tear-streaked face and panicked eyes, his self-control vanished. 

“Hey baby…” he choked out.

“JT?”

"Yes, baby. It is me. I am _very sorry_ , so very sorry. Everything will be okay, I promise. I love you so much. Don't worry. No one will hurt you….” His head whipped up as someone touched him, “What are you doi... NO!! GIVE IT BACK!”

His tears fell, unchecked, as the man took his phone back. He wasn’t done yet. He needed to ask if she was okay, make sure she wasn’t mistreated by those bastards, know that she was safe. He wanted to have one more look at her face, to take in her features. He heaved as a sob escaped him.

He failed her. Failed his baby. He should protect them, keep them from harm, be the shield that held all the world's dangers away. But he let them down.

He let everyone down. And he was making it worse by selling out a friend who trusted him. Shame engulfed him and was soon overweighed with anger. Before he acted out on it, though, he was stopped by the click on a gun.

"Don't do anything stupid. You want your wife safe, right? Now, as we agreed, the profiler for your wife and unborn baby." He gestured to his men who took hold of Malcolm's arms and moved him to the other side of the room, where the man was.

Again, JT was surprised when Malcolm complied and allowed himself to be manhandled in silence. He barely uttered a word, lifted up his hands as one of the men held out zip ties and stood by as he was restrained. His shoulders drooped, and his gaze fell to the ground.

His resignation was worse than anything JT prepared for. And he had been mentally preparing himself for everything the second Bright hopped in the passenger seat.

He wanted him to get angry, call him names, accuse him of being a horrible, despicable monster. He deserved it. He wanted it. But when they finally made eye contact, all he saw in the profiler’s eyes was acceptance, serenity even.

He managed a feeble smile and told him, “I understand.” Before he sighed and lowered his head again.

JT gagged. He forgot how to breathe. His guilt magnified exponentially as soon as the words left Bright's lips. Looking at him at this moment, he wished he could take it all back. Maybe he should have gone to Gil the second that video message popped on his phone. Maybe they could have helped them.

But no! He _knew_ those monsters; they would have killed Tally. Hell, they could still kill her even now. The stakes were too high. _It is the only way._

He was given a choice; his family or his friend. And he made it. Anyone in his place would make this same decision too. Even Malcolm _understood_. Then why did his understanding feel like a punch to the gut? Why did he feel that Malcolm's blood was on his hands already?

Because they _will_ kill him. The Italian Mafia did not joke around. They wanted Malcolm, and he just handed him like a wrapped gift.

Murderer.

Traitor.

Selfish.

Despicable.

_It is the only way._

The phone rang, and their leader picked up. He listened for a few seconds, then motioned to the rest to start moving.

“Well, Detective Tarmel. My man tells me your wife was safely dropped at the nearest hospital. Pleasure doing business with you.”

It all happened in a second. A piercing pain exploded in his chest, and Malcolm was being led away as he screamed and fought back. He was calling JT's name. JT's vision fluttered, and he looked down at the source of the pain. A fountain of crimson was pouring from a _wound._

He was shot.

The world tilted out of focus as he fell to his knees.

~~~

“Well, Detective Tarmel. My man tells me your wife was safely dropped at the nearest hospital. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Malcolm looked as Francis, Mario Falcone’s first lieutenant, aimed the gun at JT and fired.

“NOOO! JT,” he screamed and tried to break free from the enormous hands that held his arms, pinning him in place. He squirmed and struggled until a fisted knuckle landed against his sternum. He doubled over, the breath escaping his lungs. A hood was thrown over his head, and he was being led away. He was roughly shoved inside the trunk of one of the cars. He was in deep trouble, but all he could think of was JT bleeding on the floor.

He took a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself and his racing brain. Tally had to be safe; as menacing as Francis always was, Bright could tell from his previous knowledge and his assessment of the situation that he kept his word and set her free. JT, on the other hand, was shot in the chest, and if he did not get medical attention soon, they would lose him.

Part of him wanted to feel angry at JT, but he just couldn’t. Not after Tally’s life was endangered because of him.

The guilt that filled him was enough to numb the feeling of betrayal that was eating at his heart. The emotional side of him was hurt, disappointed. This was not the first time someone betrayed him or broke his trust. He was all too familiar with that pain, and this is why he only trusted a few. What made this one especially heavy, was that he had started to trust JT and considered him a friend, that he ventured again and opened his heart just to get stabbed in the back. But he was not angry… just disappointed.

The logical side of him understood JT's decision. He couldn't blame him. After all, what wouldn't he do to protect his family?

Malcolm sighed again as he lay in the dark and contemplated his fate. He knew what was coming, and he could admit – at least to himself now- that he was terrified. He shuddered as pictures from his first profile ever invaded his mind. Victims tortured and so gruesomely murdered. A worse fate awaited him. 

But he couldn’t blame JT. A few tears trickled down his cheeks.

He understands why he did it.

_End of Chapter 1_


	2. Attempted Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For BTHB -> Grabbed by the hair

Attempted Escape

> **Wednesday. 1:00 AM**.

Malcolm was roughly led through a maze of corridors, still zip-tied and hoodwinked, and then he was pushed into a metal chair… _and he was left alone?_

The room was damp and moist. It also carried a particular odor that made his nose wrinkle and stomach flip in disgust.

Were they underground?

Having that stupid hood obscuring his vision was a significant disadvantage. He couldn't assess the situation, know his position, even save his own skin. He was vulnerable in all sense of the word, and he hated it.

He forced himself to breathe deeply and use his other senses instead.

_The more steadily you breathe, the quieter the place would be, and the better chance you would have at getting out of here._

A minute or two passed. He was the only one breathing.

Ok, he was alone.

He wasn’t strapped to the chair. So, he can get up. The zip ties are easy to get rid of, the hood barely any trouble.

It felt like an invitation to attempt an escape, a challenge waiting to be accepted. Malcolm closed his eyes and focused. He remembered the profile he started roughly 6 years ago.

He knew what this was. The Mafia liked to torment their victims. 

Step number 1: They always gave their captives a false sense of security; they let them believe they were free before they tortured and killed him.

Like a lion who liked to play with his prey before he devoured it, the Mafia let their victims enjoy the sweet taste of control before they ripped it away. A genius psychological technique. Apt to destroy all hopes, to break people mentally before any physical torture even started.

Step number 2: he didn’t want to go there.

Malcolm knew all that. He knew that this was a test that he was set to fail. But could he really afford not to try?

A tiny voice whispered to him, tried to convince him that maybe he will be the exception, that he knew how they think, how they act. _Wouldn’t that count for anything? Or give you an advantage the others obviously lacked?_

Trying to escape meant possible death. Staying put was certain. No more analysis was needed. He made his decision: He won’t stay here like a sitting duck and await his execution. 

In an instant, he was on his feet. He pulled his arms back, and the zip ties gave away. He yanked the hood off his head, squinted against the sudden return of sight, and looked around. His mouth dropped.

He was in a dungeon, with stone walls, floor, and ceiling. No windows. There were many metal rings at different heights on the wall, the floor, and some chains dangling from the ceiling. The only table had many implements that made him tremble.

This was worse than anything he ever went through. It was like he was dropped in one of those medieval dungeons. He gagged when he saw the dried blood on some of the tools and almost buckled back into the chair, his chest heaving with frantic breaths.

Psychology. Mind tricks.

He reminded himself.

This is intentional. The blood. The room; all were tactics to instill fear and assert dominance. 

_You know better than this. Breathe. Get yourself out. And you won't have to worry about the things in here. Panic, and you will experience them firsthand. Breathe. You can do this. You can do this._

After a few seconds of coercing himself to calm down, his breathing evened. He needed a weapon to protect himself. He looked over the implements on the table and picked a crowbar.

It served him well with Watkins. He smirked; this could bring him luck. He made for the door, which was obviously unlocked.

All in accordance with their MO.

He stealthily moved around, noting the lack of CCTV and the emptiness of the corridors. It was all _too_ easy.

_Focus._

He tried to remember the turns they took when they led him here, but after a couple of them and without the aid of his sight, it was impossible to keep track. He tried to follow a hunch and took rights and lefts as he moved.

At one of the turns, he found a patrolling guard! His heart rate spiked as he sneaked behind him and attacked him with well-maneuvered accuracy. The body went limp in his hands, and Malcolm laid him on the ground carefully. He frisked him quickly and was surprised to find car keys, a gun, and a phone.

_Perfect. Way too perfect._

It didn't matter, he must move. Two turns, and then he halted. He was facing a bigger circular room. Like the hallway he came from, three more corridor openings led to that clearing.

Even though he knew what was happening, his stomach dropped when he realized that his escape had failed. He took a steadying breath and closed his eyes as a gun was cocked, its tip touching his back.

“Did you enjoy the tour of the place?” the mocking voice sounded from the shadows behind him, "I mean, did you _really_ think we are that stupid?”

Malcolm shrugged, raising his hands up in surrender, and tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, “The place is okay. It just needs more light, you know?”

A chuckle echoed in the empty room. It belonged to a person with a deep harsh baritone voice that sent chills down Malcolm’s spine. He froze.

The voice of Mario Falcone was not one he could ever forget. And apparently, he was here too.

_Obviously, he will be. What did you think? He’s the reason YOU are here._

“He’s cracking jokes. Let’s see if he would still keep this snark after I am done with him.”

Despite being intimidated by Falcone, Malcolm maintained his eye contact with the Mafia’s boss. He stood tall, defiant and proud, and offered no comment. It was not worth sparing with him. He wanted to find a way to get out of this mess.

Aside from the gun burning a hole in his back, he was alone with two people. While Francis was armed, and a worthy opponent, Mario shouldn't be. Malcolm assessed his form and posture. The boss might have been a fighter years ago before others started doing his dirty work, but now he might be easy to take down.

So maybe if he was able to swiftly swerve and disarm Francis, aim at Mario, incapacitate both, he could still escape. _Should be doable, right?_

A right cross startled him out of his thoughts and sent him to the ground. The sound of footsteps signaled more guards closing in on him. Six guards, he counted.

“Your eyes are very expressive, _Profiler_. They give your thoughts away," Falcone snickered as he rubbed his knuckles.

Malcolm cursed himself. Mario was _not_ out of practice as he assumed. Was he really that bad at profiling? Or was he too stubborn to acknowledge how screwed he actually was? 

He tried to get up but was kicked so hard he crumbled back down. Suddenly, too many hands were on him. He was pulled up roughly, brute hands held each arm firmly, and a taller figure secured him in a chokehold. Malcolm was shorter than them, and his feet could barely touch the ground. He was totally helpless for what was about to happen.

He embraced himself as the blows started.

Their fists felt like iron every time they crashed into his torso, sternum, abs. His muscles ached as he tried to flex them to absorb some of the force but to no avail. The chokehold prevented him from doubling over. So, he was just held there, utterly defenseless against all the abuse, and his only outlet was his grunts and cries of pain. It was agony.

After the umpteenth punch, they finally let him go, and he immediately collapsed. Every breath he took was torture, every move was lighting his muscles like fire. His whole body was colored in bruises, and he was ready to call it a day.

But of course, they weren’t. It wasn’t satiating enough for their boss, and the kicking started. He curled onto himself and held up his hands to cover his head as four booted legs started thrusting with all their might into him. It brought back the all too familiar pain he felt as a bullied kid. But now, it was a hundred times worse. while those kids hit him to let out some bottled-up frustrations they had, those guards delivered blows that threatened to break bones and cause serious injury.

He managed to peak at Mario between the avalanche of kicks. He was not looking at him with a satisfied grin. He wasn’t smiling and enjoying his screams like Francis was. He was placidly waiting, poker-faced throughout. A statue.

After what felt like an eternity, it all stopped, and he was allowed to heave burning breaths against his abused ribs. He curled on his side and dared to cough. Once he started, he couldn't stop. Every spasm came with a spike of pain so sharp it threatened to pull him into the darkness. Malcolm twitched in agony, feeling the tears on his face and the blood in his mouth. He lifted his head and starting spitting mouthfuls of blood. 

Falcone approached him and got down on one knee to survey the damage. Malcolm gasped as a hand was fisted through his hair, and his head was yanked up so hard he felt his neck will snap.

Their eyes met, and although Malcolm was beaten to a pulp, and was pathetically lying there, blood drooling from his mouth and nose, he tried to meet that gaze with defiance. The look Falcone gave him, though, made him shiver. It was a cold, hard stare, full of anticipation, hungry for revenge. It was impossible to feign bravery, and his fear couldn't remain bottled anymore. It lept to his eyes as clear as day.

Only then did Falcone smile.

He snarled as he yanked Malcolm's head, even more, while twisting his fisted hands in his hair and enjoying his hitched breathing, “I have been dreaming of this moment, Mr. Bright. To be able to hold your life in my hand. But I will not squeeze it out just yet. No, I will _break_ you for what you did! I will enjoy every second, every scream. Then when you are totally broken, I will BURN You." 

Then with all the force, he could muster, he brought his head face down crashing into the tiled floor. Bright shrieked at the impact, the blood already started pooling from his broken nose. The new pain resounded with renewed vigor that made him forget all that passed prior.

All his efforts to stay awake were fading. The darkness was encroaching, and he let it in as a reprieve from what had happened. _Or what will happen?_ The last thing he heard before he slipped away was Falcone’s ruff voice ordering his men. “Strip, chain him, call the specialist, and wait for me. I need to get some sleep before we start.”

> **Wednesday. 2:00 AM**. 

Gil scrambled through the hospital corridors, his head frantically whipping around, trying to find a particular bush of curled hair. He finally spotted her and called out, “Dani.”

"Gil!" her voice was strained and terrified. He put a hand on her arm to steady her, and she clutched his in turn tightly.

“Dani. Talk to me. What happened?”

“I don’t know, Gil. I don’t understand what’s happening. I got a call from Tally. She was hysterical, saying someone kidnapped her. And they were blackmailing JT? And JT wasn't answering so I called him too, and when he didn't answer me, I freaked out. So, I tracked his car and sent a bus to his location. He was shot, Gil! Through the chest! By the time they found him, he had lost lots of blood - I - I don’t know if he will make it!”

She was spiraling, her free hand going through her hair, and her eyes were frantic and distraught. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and they both couldn't afford that. They needed control.

“Dani… Powel. Listen to me. Listen. Focus on me. Focus. JT is in surgery?”

“Yes.”

“Any news?”

"No, nothing yet. He's been in for two hours now.”

“Ok. Walk me through the facts. As a detective.” he encouraged her, and she appreciated the sentiment. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

“Where is Tally? Is she okay?”

“Yes. They didn’t touch her. She’s a bit shaken. They are running tests to see if she is okay… that nothing affected her pregnancy,” she clarified, and Gil let out a relieved sigh, “I sent units to process the scene where they found JT.”

“Good. Have they found anything yet? Did you call Bright? He can help us.”

"No, but they said they will send me any updates as soon as they get any. I have been trying to reach him, but it just keeps going straight to voice mail."

Gil frowned. Bright always picked up whenever anyone called him. Something told Gil that there was a reason why the Profiler wasn't picking up. It was just a foreboding feeling that was filling him with dread, and he couldn't shake it away. Malcolm not picking up was just another worry that he had to carry on his shoulder among the list of other misfortunes that were surrounding them. He decided he would pass by his loft and checkup on him.

Dani's phone rang, and she picked up, "Powel." He knew it was the CSU and judging by her expression, it was _not_ good news. The hand that was clutching his arm started to shake, “Okay. Please send me a copy now. I am on my way to the precinct with Lieutenant Arroyo."

“Dani?” he asked her, secretly bracing himself for the worst. 

She took a breath. Then another. Opened her mouth to speak, but nothing was coming out.

“Dani.” He implored, “what happened?”

Her eyes were brimming with tears, and her voice was choked when she answered him, "They found JT's phone. He – he had typed a text but passed out before he sent it…"

“What does it say?” Gil’s voice was barely a whisper.

Dani didn’t answer him. She just showed him the screen. Gil went ashen when he read the text. The support he was giving Dani ended up being his own as he swayed, his knees struggling to hold his weight.

_This was worse than the worst._

_End of chapter 2_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments made my day last time and I really appreciated it <3<3
> 
> Sneak Peek: Next BTHB chapter is standing cuffs :D


	3. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For BTHB -> Standing Cuffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Stabbing and bleeding!! 
> 
> This chapter was a bit heavy and took longer to write but I hope I did it justice!

Interrogation

> **Wednesday. 7:00 AM.**

Gil had been sitting at his desk for the past hour, maybe more. Next to him was a cup of stale coffee that he prepared and left untouched and was now ice cold. Its aroma, however, was filling his nostrils with a weird sense of longing and ache.

It was how Malcolm smelled every day as he stormed into the precinct, begging him for a case to solve, or happily informing him that he finally completed a profile. God knows the kid barely ate anything, but the smell of coffee coming off of him was the one constant thing about his "eating" habits for as long as Gil could remember.

So, at 6 AM, Gil made a fresh cup of coffee and laid it on his desk and just sat there waiting...

Waiting for news on JT. Waiting for the CSU to finish processing the evidence. Waiting for the FBI to send the file on the case. Waiting for all of this to make any sense… Just waiting here _helpless_ while his kid might be drawing his final breath somewhere.

He stared at the framed photo on his desk and had to fight an overwhelming urge to cry. It was a picture of Malcolm and Jackie, smiling back at him, their eyes twinkling.

He often stared at this picture, especially after Jackie left him. It was to remind him that sometimes things do get bad, but that it was temporary. It was a reminder that despite the hardships he might be facing now, there was once a time when his wife was still here with him. A time when they were happy, on a Sunday morning, with a child who was theirs in all ways but biologically, a child so pure who deserved love and happiness. A child so good, his act of courage twenty years ago is why Gil was still here, breathing.

Today he looked at this photo, and all he felt was failure and regret.

He failed him.

He wished he could have the luxury to drown his sorrows in a drink or two, or ten. But that would be foolish and unwise. In a time when his most trusted detective was fighting for his life, and his profiler was kidnapped, Gil must not break down. He had to rise to his rank and lead with authority and conviction. He should remain impartial and practical until they found Malcolm, hopefully alive. And if their luck ran out and he lost two members of his family, then… then...

For now, he just needed his mind alert and functional.

He looked down at the collected evidence they had so far, within the file was a copy of the message JT was typing as he passed out.

_“Check on T. Track MB. Mario Falcone. Sor.”_

Gil did not need to reread it as it was still burning a hole in his mind. A very brief message, that of a dying man desperately trying to save his wife and friend. The implications of the text were filling the lieutenant with so much dread and confusion that made him sick. The apology at the end, especially, was begging the detective in him to draw conclusions. Horrible conclusions as to what had occurred in that cursed warehouse. But it was also something Gil decided to ignore for now.

He did not know what to make of this, not with half the facts unknown, not with one of his men missing and the other halfway between the lands of the living and the dead. It was such an impossible truth that he chose to push aside for the sake of remaining objective on their investigation. 

What he could not push aside, though, was the rest of the message, or the chilling fear that crept up his spine and gripped his heart every time Mario Falcone’s name popped in his head. Not him. He wished it was anyone else but him. The Falcone family was gruesome, they thrived on pain, and murdered anyone who dared cross their path. Gil could not imagine what they were doing to Malcolm now. He had not only crossed them, he gravely injured them.

Gil took a shaky breath and tried to calm his trembling hands and push the morbid thoughts away. Objectivity will help. Spiraling away won’t. Malcolm trusts them to find him. The kid is strong, he will last long enough for them.

His kid would endure.

> **Wednesday. 8:00 AM.**

Malcolm was forced to wake up from his pain-induced sleep when two experienced hands yanked him from where he lay on the stone floor and handcuffed him to the chains dangling from the ceiling. Blinking away the daze, he realized he was once again in that stone dungeon. Immediately his fight or flight response kicked in, and he was wide awake, eyes open, adrenaline pumping, mind setting in full gear… but so was the fear.

Despite being shorter than the average man, he was able to stand properly, feet fully resting on the stone ground. They had adjusted the chains to match his height. It suggested that they wanted to keep him like that for a while without running the risk of hanging him by his wrists or suffocating him. He concluded that suspension was not the torture technique for today, but just means to keep him standing in place while they did whatever they had planned.

His body was aching with the effort to remain standing. The cold metal cuffs were digging in his flesh, constricting his blood flow, and his arms were already numb. He could not breathe through his nose as it was bruised and clogged with coagulated blood, and the short breaths he took through his mouth were not enough to keep his lungs full. His head was already throbbing with hammering intensity, but with the lack of oxygen, he was starting to sway in his place.

He felt a flush of embarrassment when he realized that his chest and legs were bare, that his underwear was his only piece of clothing they kept on him. Humiliating, dehumanizing, and definitely another power play to scare him. He was so ashamed to admit that it worked.

But there was no use playing the smart overanalytical profiler when he so stupidly played into their hands last time. And if the agonizing pain was not a good reminder, the red, blue and purple bruises he could see coloring his skin were enough proof of his failure.

At least one good thing came of it, he thought bitterly. Truth be told, he thinks this was the most he had ever slept in his life without having his brain hijacked by those cursed night terrors. He just dropped like a log, and he estimates he was able to snatch a couple of long hours before they woke him up. Judging by his state right now, he could say he was thankful he was able to de-plug for a while. Who knew what was waiting for him next?

The door opened, and a petite woman with intelligent eyes walked in with a determined pace. She was holding a small briefcase that she laid on the floor next to where he stood, opened it, and then looked at him.

She inspected his bruises with an analytical eye, lifted his chin up to check his face, then looked at his nose, all without saying a word.

“ Nose is not broken, just heavily bruised. Might have difficulty breathing though,” she mused, talking to no one in particular, “do you feel nauseous?”

“hmm?” he stared at her blankly before he found his voice, “yah. A little?”

“mmhm….” She went for her notebook and started scribbling stuff down. Every once in a while, she would look up and ask him if this hurt or if it was difficult to breathe, listen to his answers, and continue writing.

Malcolm observed her with wide and inquisitive eyes at first, trying to profile her, to understand what Falcone was getting at by sending her here. But after some time, he just gave up, zoned out, and waited. 

The chilling sensation of something touching his skin made him gasp. She was holding a black marker and drawing precise lines on his skin while consulting a sketch of a human body.

"Hey, what are you doing?" he squirmed, knowing all too well that he won't get an answer. She ignored him as she continued working and humming.

It was all too infuriating, him standing there, bare, bruised, and defenseless while she hummed and drew lines on him like she was just painting a canvas in the garden. This whole situation was weird, invasive, and hopeless. But he couldn’t hold on to the anger for long as the despair was faster to overpower it. Mainly he was just so tired to do anything, and there was nothing he could do anyway. So, he rested his head on one arm and closed his eyes.

When she stopped singing, he knew she was done. She was very excited as she surveyed her work, the carefully drawn X marks on different places on his torso, legs, back. She called out, and the door flung open as a guard walked in, pushing a stroller that had blood bags on it, as well as a couple of knives. His heart leaped to his throat. Once again, they had succeeded in scaring him using techniques his mind knew and studied.

Then Falcone entered.

His presence seemed to absorb whatever warmth that was in the room. His cold eyes fixated on Malcolm, a ghost of a smile hovering over his face before he asked, “so how are we doing today?” 

“For a chronic insomniac, I’d say I slept better than most days“ Malcolm couldn’t resist the urge, but he was surprised to see that his comment did not affect Falcone.

The man took off his suit jacket, rolled his expensive dress shirt, and held one of the knives in his hand, balancing its weight in his palms, "Do you remember what I told you before I knocked you out? I don't intend to kill you. Not yet, anyway. Do you know how many times a man can get stabbed before he dies?"

Malcolm had been intently watching him, putting two and two together. When he heard that last sentence, it all clicked for him, the X marks, the questions, the faint memory of Falcone telling his men to get the specialist. His hands twitched involuntarily, causing the chains to clink, the sudden movement sent a jolt of electricity through his already numb arms.

Mario watched him as he processed the situation with a gleam of satisfaction, "My specialist here helped me mark the spots where I can stab you without killing you, isn't she brilliant? Now, this is very simple, I will ask you a question. You will answer me. Then maybe I will be merciful, and you will not have to endure the pain."

“and if I don’t?” Malcolm raised a skeptical eyebrow in a futile act of defiance, his voice barely above a whisper.

“If you don’t?” his enemy scoffed and walked towards him, only stopping when he was a few inches away, “You seem to think that you have a choice. You have no will, no control over anything that happens to you from now on, _Profiler_. You will scream when I want. You will cry when I want. You will talk when I give you permission to, and you will only tell me what I want to know. You will see…”

It was so fast he did not have time to brace himself. Falcone buried the knife so deep in his thigh, and Malcolm heard himself howl. Blood leached out from the wound, traveled down his legs, and started pooling on the ground. His body broke in sweat as he fought the urge to buckle, knowing all too well that there was more coming. He steeled himself against the pain and met his tormenter's gaze. Falcone was smiling.

“Tell me. How do you work on a profile?” he asked with a mock emphasis on the word profile.

“It is based on behavioral analysis, psychology,” Malcolm said through gritted teeth.

“Brief. But not bad,” he went for another knife, “what did you have to do to apply for Quantico?”

"Why? Do you want to have a go? nghhh…ahhh…aaahh.”

He looked down as Mario yanked the knife out. It was the same area where Watkins had stabbed him. Tears ran down his face as he gasped for air, each cold breath brushing against his gushing wound with a burning sensation.

Malcolm clutched the chains for support, struggling to remain standing. His side was throbbing vigorously, and the dark spots in his vision were making it hard to focus. He did not know if the pain he now felt was due to the current stab wound or an amalgamation with the one he remembered from that night. 

The knife hit the floor with a long clang, and Falcone fisted his hand through his hair, pulling his head up to look at him.

"I have to say I love your sarcasm. You know what your psychology books say about it, though? It is a defense mechanism. I see through your charade Profiler. I could smell your fear from miles away, so you might as well stop pretending.”

He moved away and went for the third knife.

“Now, you want to try that last answer again?”

> **Wednesday. 10:00 AM.**

Dani was standing in front of the case board in the conference room, arms crossed, eyebrows creased, and feet tapping the floor restlessly when Gil entered. She was too engrossed in the brutality of the pictures displayed that all her other senses were on hold. His soft touch on her shoulder sent her jumping.

“Gil… I didn’t feel you come in,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion.

"Any news Dani?" he asked her. She looked at him, and she could see the effort it was taking to appear in control. She could see the fear in his eyes that same way she saw hers in the mirror. She swallowed, trying to find her voice before she gave him the answer he already knew. Nothing yet.

His shoulders drooped as he made for the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. Dani hated to see him like that, but she had no words of comfort she could say, no help she could offer, and no shred of hope that she could share. She felt just as lost and panicked as her mentor was. She went back to staring at the board, tapping her feet and biting on her lips.

Why would Mario Falcone run the risk of kidnapping a detective's wife to get to Bright? Why was Bright so important to him? According to the police reports she pulled, the Falcones kept their shady business under the radar, never engaged openly with law enforcement. They definitely were _not_ cop killers. What was so dramatically different that made them change their MO? And what did that mean for Bright? Would they- torture him? Kill him? Questions kept invading her mind for which she had no answers. 

Ironically, the one person who would have helped them with the profile is the one they were trying to find. A few tears collected on her lashes and she quickly wiped them away. She promised herself that she will keep her feelings in check. She owed Bright that much, at least. 

But all she could do right now was wait for the FBI file to give them any insight. She continued to stare at the facts, and ask herself why? Why? Why?

“I know why,” Gil’s voice startled her for the second time this hour. She did not realize that she was talking out loud. Dani whipped her head towards Gil and shot him a confused look.

“I know why Falcone wanted Bright,” he straightened himself in his seat, and she made her way to the nearest chair, ready to listen. 

“It was his first case, his first break. The FBI had been working on a profile for months. No one was going anywhere, and the number of victims was rising. They called him the Random killer. Bright- he looked at it from another angle, like he always does. He had his initial profile in a week. It was a major break. They identified Lorenzo Falcone as the killer. Mario's brother and his right-hand lieutenant.”

Dani gasped, eyes growing wide.

“… He ended up in prison. It was a big case, huge media coverage. Kid got promoted after…” 

“Sounds just like Bright,” she offered him a sad smile.

“Yeah, it does... It was also the case that made him unpopular within the FBI, more so than he already was, I mean. The profiler who was in line for the promotion was not happy. She felt he did not deserve it, that he scooped her place."

“…Colette?”

“Probably... He never told me her name. But I guessed it was her when she came here last December.” 

A few moments passed in silence before Dani broke the silence, “so, Mario is upset his brother’s in Jail? Isn’t it too extreme to…” 

“Lorenzo was killed in prison. I think Mario blames Bright for all of his misfortunes, the loss of his brother. If it wasn’t for Bright, he wouldn’t have been caught.”

Dani said nothing. The room was engulfed in tense silence once more. Part of her wanted to believe the story Gil told her, but her heart couldn’t help wondering if there was more to the story.

The phone ringing put all her thoughts on pause.

It was Tally.

Her heart sank.

> **Wednesday? XX: XX**

Malcolm was lying on the stone floor, dressed once again in his pants and dress shirt, a small act of mercy that he was grateful for. They laid him down there, unchained, completely free, but he did not have the strength to move or even lift his head. Every inch of him hurt.

His torturous session was finally over. He thinks he fainted from the blood loss and the pain towards the end. He didn’t remember Falcone leaving.

But he remembers them lowering him, remembers the specialist addressing his wounds, stitching him. He thinks he had a blood transfusion as well. He’s not sure.

The time stretched on as he stared at nothing in particular, drawing shuddering breaths. He was still living. The suffocating moist air moving in and out of his lungs. He was still breathing.

He could still feel the sharp-edged blade piercing deep into his body before being yanked away with brutal force. A residual tremor remained in his muscles as a reminder of the nightmare he was forced to endure. He shivered when he remembered that there was more in store.

He could not sleep. How could he?  
So, there he remained motionless and hollow, silently praying for any reprieve.

He wondered if JT was ok. He wondered if Gil and Dani knew he was taken. He wondered what else was coming. And how much more could he take? He didn't wonder for long, though.

He was just so exhausted. So tired to even think.

He closed his eyes.

Part of him hoped that by some miracle, he won’t open them ever again.

_End of chapter 3_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Yes, I used a stupid name for Lorenzo's "serial killer name" just to keep with the show's tradition :P
> 
> Also, remember when this was only 4 chapters? well, I LIED!! hehe
> 
> Sneak peek for next BTHB: Stress position


	4. Endurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For BTHB -> Stress Position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, the show is doing a great job of breaking the poor guy, but then my monstrous mind went like, "what if?"  
> Apparently, chapter 1 was not enough! Hehheh
> 
> Ps: I am pretending Eve did not exist. (Nothing against her, but she just doesn’t fit in my timeline lol)

Endurance

> **Wednesday. XX: XX**

Malcolm flinched when the door to his cell flung open and hurried footsteps barged in. They had left him lying here alone a long time ago, he thought, but it was not long enough for him yet.

“Get up,” Falcone ordered.

He opened his eyes and looked at him for a few seconds, then with resigned movements, he willed his body to stand. He slowly struggled to his knees, his muscles screaming with the effort, his stitches threatening to break open.

Apparently, he was not fast enough, because Falcone snapped his fingers and two guards grabbed his upper arms roughly and lifted him onto his feet. When their hands left him, he swayed, trying to find his balance without their support. His vision blurred, but then he steadied himself and met Falcone’s gaze.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I am great! Thanks for asking,” Malcolm replied, a ghost of a smile hovering over his face.

“Overly predictable. Still stubborn.” Falcone met his smile with a ruthless one of his own, “I keep wondering… we both know this act isn’t fooling anyone, so what are you aiming to achieve?”

Malcolm’s arms were wrenched behind him and locked in handcuffs; his feet chained to the floor.

“Do you know what a Strappado is?” Mario looked at him expectantly as he was handled by his men.

Malcolm’s heart leaped to his throat.

No. Not this.

“It is a Medieval torture technique,” he inhaled abruptly, a flicker of fear passing through his otherwise obstinate glare, “the victim’s hands are… bound behind their back, and then they are suspended… obviously resulting in dislocated joints…” 

He grunted as his shackles were connected to another chain. He heard rustling sounds and felt his arms being dragged upward behind him. Then all hands were off him, and he awkwardly stood there, panic already setting in.

“Impressive.” Falcone was surveying him now. Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or observing what his men did. _It did not matter, though did it?_ He reminded himself to keep breathing.

“ _My_ version of the Strappado is more fun, and I am sure you will agree. Your task for today is very simple, Mr. Profiler. No more interrogation or stabbing. Just stay standing. That’s it. _When_ you fall, eventually, the chain will pull your arms up, and your shoulders will be dislocated. Let’s see how long you last.”

And just like that, the boss and his guards left the room, the door closing behind them with a loud clang.

> **Thursday. 5:00 PM.**

Dani had never felt so helpless in her life.

It had been forty-three hours since JT got shot; as of now, he was out of surgery and in the ICU, Intubated and unconscious, his life still uncertain.

It had been thirty-nine hours since they found out Bright had been taken. During which, Dani and Gil spent every minute trying to find him and yet came up with nothing.

It had been almost three days since she last went to her apartment, slept in her bed. Actually. It had been three days since she forgot how to breathe.

They had scoured every known hideout affiliated with the Mafia; they exhausted every resource at hand, followed any lead they found, and nothing panned out. At every dead-end, they would share a pained look, then pull up a brave face and soldier on. It was exhausting to be professional when both of them were way too emotionally involved. But they had to pretend that Bright was only a teammate, or they won’t be allowed to investigate with the other team.

On their last bust, her hopelessness could not stay at bay any longer, and she found herself openly crying. Dani was not a crier, and when Gil saw her silent tears, he was mortified. He told her to take a break, and after many protests on her part, she reluctantly agreed. On her way home, she found herself driving to the hospital.

And here she was.

The nurse told her that only Tally was allowed in. So, Dani sat in the waiting area, aching head resting against the wall. She had barely slept, only managed two-three rushed hours since that Tuesday night when Tally called her. Not only was she looking terrible, but she also felt like it. Her head weighed a ton, too heavy on her shoulders, her eyes were red and watered excessively, her body was begging for some rest, but her mind? It wouldn't stop working. The gears were set in full motion, turning and churning.

Too many variables, too many directions, too many worries. She sighed.

She considered herself a tough girl, one who grew up amidst the hardships and prevailed. The girl who became a cop, the cop who went up the ranks. It took courage and determination, and pain but she reached. And she does not take that victory lightly.

Despite that, she found herself feeling so fragile in this scenario. Any show of power she tried to pull up slowly dissipated. And she couldn’t be too hard on herself. She knew why. Two of her team members were in danger. Not just team members, they were much more than that.

JT was more than a big brother to her and Bright? Bright was ...

She closed her eyes.

When she found out what happened to JT, her world flipped upside down. Fear gripped at her heart when she thought that she might lose him. He was the brother she never had, the mentor she respected, and the friend she opened up to. He readily accepted her when Gil brought her into Major crimes after her fiasco in Narcotics, supported her, even. A man of few words, a sarcastic attitude, but a heart of gold. Dani was spiraling with worry, hoping against all hope, praying that he makes it. If not for her, then for the sake of his wife and unborn child.

This situation alone was threatening to break her.

But then they found out about Bright, and it was like someone punched her in the gut. Her stomach sank in a bottomless pit of despair, and she had been trying to claw her way out ever since.

Her mind wandered back to when she first saw that text. Dani knew what happened then. She knew what JT did just like Gil knew, but they did not dare discuss it. How could they?

She remembered Bright getting in the car with JT that night, all giddy with excitement that JT was finally accepting him. She just assumed JT dropped him off before he got involved in this. It turned out that Bright, unknowingly, was the center of it all. 

She knew why JT did it.

It left her conflicted. But mostly she was so angry. She was angry because he didn’t confide in her, didn’t trust her enough, left her out. And coming from a person who had trust issues, this was bad.

But in all honesty, she was madder at herself. JT had spent a full day with them in the precinct chained by a moral dilemma, fearing for the safety of his wife, and she did not know. She could not help him. Dani failed; she failed as a friend and failed as a partner. How could she be so blind?

Oh, how she wishes that it was a nightmare. She wanted to wake up on the floor in her flat, having fallen off the bed. But no, this was her reality now. Life was cruel, and she had to deal with it.

Think of something else, breathe, and think of something else. She willed her eyes to close and drifted away. But whenever her mind wandered, it would always bring her back to one point.

Malcolm.

Her heart ached whenever she imagined what he might be going through, it throbbed with the thought that it might be too late, that he might be already dead. 

She couldn’t bear to think this way, couldn’t imagine her life without his chaotic presence brightening her day. They had grown so close in the past few months; it was nothing like she ever imagined. It took her twice the time to be able to open up to JT.

But something about Malcolm made it easier, she guessed. He opened up to her and trusted her, and in turn, she felt safe doing so too. They were two people brought together by the want of trust, two people saved by the same man, two people who found each other while trying to find themselves again. She took a shaky breath, the air stifling and hot inside her lungs, burning.

She blinked the tears away and smiled. Between his constant near-death experiences, and his incessant self-sacrificing tendencies, Dani thought she had acquired the much-needed immunity to deal with what was happening. How wrong she was. 

For the second time today, she found herself crying. She couldn’t lose him.

She had to find him because…

Because she never got to tell him how she really felt.

> **Xday. XX: XX**

Time was relative, he reminded himself as he stood there. The seconds bled into minutes, which bled into hours that felt like years. The silence was so loud it threatened to engulf him. Time was relative. With no windows, he could not tell how long had he stood there, how long before his tormentor came back. Time was relative. But he knew that many hours had long passed judging by the stiffness in his muscles.

His legs ached, his arms ached, and his shoulders? His shoulders were on fire. He had no room for movement the way he was chained. He could only wiggle his feet around, and that was it. At first, it was a bearable task, really, but then as the minutes dragged, it became intolerable.

His muscles quaked uncontrollably with the enormous effort to stay upright. He thinks he could have made it longer if it was a week ago. But the harsh treatment he had received the past days had taken a toll.

His stomach muscles, feet, and arms were all weakened by pain, the beating, the stabbings, lack of proper rest, and sleep. The want of food and water drained him. And even though he wouldn’t admit it, he was mentally and emotionally compromised. They had used his friends to get to him, forced JT to betray him. By the time he was a pawn in the game, he was already on the losing side, outnumbered, outwitted, and hurt. He stood no chance.

Malcolm was always good at pushing his feelings aside. When things got intense for him, he would always find a distraction or look for a murder. When he was first taken, he had easily pushed all thoughts of JT out. He had to think of the situation on deck and try to escape, save himself. When time passed, and his body was weakened with torture and pain, he could not keep up his mental barrier anymore. The effort cost so much more than he could afford. And JT’s betrayal was now hitting with resounding vigor. His heart was aching, he was not able to breathe.

Malcolm looked at his legs, and he could feel his muscles burning, the strain to hold himself up was too much that he was shaking all over. He was not sure how much longer he could hold; in reality, he could drop to his knees at any moment, but then he will risk dislocating his shoulder.

The door creaked, and Falcone walked in. Malcolm noticed that he was wearing a different outfit. Has it been a new day already?

“You are still standing,” he mused, “your muscles must be on fire.”

“They are! a good core exercise… Leg day.” Malcolm smiled at him, his voice a derisive hiss coming through clenched teeth.

A blow took him in the stomach, halting his breath, and he bent over. Another punch across his mouth sent his face flying to the left, blood splattering across the nearest wall. Malcolm lost his balance for a moment, wavering before he stumbled to support himself. He spat out blood and saliva, then steadied himself up, rocking where he stood. The sudden movement made the shackles dig deeper into his wrists, and now his hands were wet with blood that ran down his arms.

He had gone pale with the effort to steady himself again, sweat broke across his brow, and his tousled hair was obscuring his vision. He stood there, gasping for breaths before he whispered a pathetic plea, "you really don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Oh yes, I _Do_.” the sudden emotion in Mario’s voice surprised him, “I am doing this for my brother, for me, for what you did to us!”

Malcolm looked up, observing, a strange sensation was filling him with hope? Was Mario Falcone prone to his manipulation? There was something there in his eyes… sadness? Guilt? He couldn't discern. But whatever it was, it told Malcolm that Falcone had been waiting for him to ask him "why", that he was waiting for this conversation to happen. 

But can he flip this in his favor? He was alone with him in the room. Maybe this will work? He took a deep breath and crossed his heart.

“Your brother- he was a murderer…”

“No!”

“…He deserved to go to prison. H-he died there. I am so sorry that it happened. It must have been hard, but it … it was not my fault,” he willed his voice to go softer, “deep down, you know that. You know that hurting me will not bring him back. It will not heal those wounds or erase the guilt you feel. You... Aa”

Malcolm’s mouth hung open in shock and confusion when he saw Mario throw his head back and laugh. He laughed and laughed, and when he looked back at him, all the traces of emotion were gone. The hard, cold, bone-chilling stare was back.

“ _YOU_ think you can profile me? Talk me down… and what? I will weep at your shoulder, and you will whisper words of comfort? Then we waltz to the police? It does _not_ work like that." he glared, " AND _It is your fault, Profiler_ because your said _profile_ was wrong.”

Malcolm blinked. Once. Two times. “…What?”

“You heard me!” Falcone retorted, “My brother was not the killer. You made a mistake. And _you_ are the reason he got thrown in prison, the reason he DIED.”

“No- N-no, you are lying."

Mind games.

Mind games.

It is impossible.

He’s manipulating you.

"Am I? Look me in the eye, Profiler. Look at me. Does my pain look like a lie? What does your _profile say_? Look around you. Look at what I did to do, what I am doing to you, and what I am planning to do.”

Falcone, once again, grabbed Malcolm’s hair, forcing him to look directly into his eyes, “ **Does. It. Look. Like. You. Got. Your. Killer. Six. Years. Ago** ?” his voice was low and dangerous; every syllable was uttered with horrific emphasis, “ **Or. Are. You. Staring. Him. In. The. eye?** ”

Malcolm forgot how to breathe. His whole body started to spasm helplessly as he reeled and staggered. His chest rose and fell, trying to slow his breathing, begging him not to hyperventilate.

“You know I am right? Don’t you? I am not a copycat. You realize that now."

He shook his head in denial, trying to get the poisonous voice out of his head. It was not true. Mind games. A trick. Not true.

He was falling. His vision fading.

No- No! Focus. Keep standing. Stay focusing.

“You are shaking, you won’t hold on much longer. Your mind is collapsing. I am sure you thought you could resist this, hold out. Maybe you thought someone will come for you. But you and I both know no one will. Your so-called _friend_ gave you up to _me…”_

H-he had no choice. JT had no choice.

He tried to protest, but he had no idea what to say. It was all true. All of it was true. His friend betrayed him, and he was most probably dead. No one knew he was taken, and if they did, they did not know who took him. No one could find him here. No one would. He wanted to crumple to the ground, to just lie there and rest, to weep like a child. _Anything else, just please make it stop_. 

Falcone was still talking, but Malcolm wasn't listening anymore. All he could hear was static, and his beating heart thumping against his chest with a force that rocked his entire body. He tasted tears on his lips. He did not know when he started crying. _It did not matter_.

His profile was wrong. He condemned the wrong man to prison. He killed an innocent man. And the real killer was free. He was free to kill for years. Because of him. Because of his mistake.

A crazed serial killer with an insatiable lust for blood.

More victims.

His fault.

More victims.

More blood on his hands.

More victims.

Can’t breathe. Can’t stand.

He gave out.

He fell to one knee, one arm wrenched back and up, and with a sickening sound, his shoulder popped. He shrieked his agony away, the snap blasting him back from the snares of his black thoughts and into the anguish of the current one. He tipped his head back, mouth wide open as he let out spluttering gasps. He tried to get up again, but every move was a stab of pain.

After three tries, he finally gave up letting out a soundless cry, and then he wept without a sound.

“You see? As I said, you might have been resolved to withstand this, but you gave up, and I didn't even touch you. You broke... just like that. And I will have my revenge for my brother Profiler…"

Malcolm looked up with pain glazed eyes through a curtain of sodden hair. He could see people storming the room. The specialist? A few guards? His eyes fluttered.

“… I will have my revenge.”

Head lolling on his chest, he felt himself slip away into the much welcome darkness.

> **Thursday. 9:00 PM.**

Gil couldn't breathe. This was the last known hideout affiliated with the Mafia that they raided and came up empty-handed. He brushed a hand in his hair in frustration, his fingers fisting it like he wanted to claw it out.

Another day wasted. Another hour closer to finding Bright dead.

He might already be dead. God no.

"Where are you, Malcolm?" he whispered brokenly, tears silently falling down his face, "where?"

His phone started vibrating. He paled when he saw the caller ID. Gil wiped his eyes, took a steadying breath, and prayed that it wasn't more bad news.

“Gil!” Dani’s voice came through.

“Dani.”

“Gil! JT is awake, and I talked to him. He- he knows how to find Bright!”

“I’ll meet you at the precinct!”

JT was awake.

He knew how to find Malcolm.

Gil almost collapsed with relief.

_End of chapter 4_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving those sweet comments! The love I am getting from you makes my day! I am really grateful!! Love you all!!
> 
> Sneak Peek for next chapter -> JT speaks :D (missed him lol)


	5. Reunion

Reunion

> **Tuesday~ when it all started.**

JT looked at him- his face contorted with guilt, fear, and anguish- and he put a hand on Malcolm’s as he choked out one strangled word.

“Sorry…”

_He tensed when JT touched him, alarmed by the strange gesture so alien to the detective, but then he felt something in his palm. JT had given him a small device that Malcolm knew all too well. A tracker._

_His brows creased in apprehension when he recognized the device. His heart rate increased, trying to catch up with his racing mind, trying to understand the severity of the situation they were in. If there were any doubts as to why they were here, Malcolm now had none._

As if on cue, and before Malcolm said anything, there was a knock on the passenger window. Malcolm turned toward the sound slowly, knowing all too well what it belonged to.

He was right.

He was staring at the barrel end of a gun.

_Malcolm quickly hid the tracker inside one of his socks as he was getting out of the car and prayed it won't be found. He stopped breathing when he was being frisked, and almost sagged with relief when the small device passed unnoticed. JT was actively ignoring him now, and even though Malcolm's heart was aching, trying to understand why JT sold him out, part of him was grateful that the detective had not left him completely stranded._

_JT gave him a lifeline, and it meant two things._

_One: He was forced to betray him._

_Two: He still cared about him and will try to get him back._

_Despite the pain of betrayal, and the gravity of the situation, Malcolm kept those two thoughts as his solace._

_~~~_

_It had been too long since he was shoved inside the trunk of the car. Malcolm was numb, emotionally drained, and exhausted. He was starting to doze off when he suddenly remembered the tracker he had._

_His lifeline._

_He wondered if JT had told anyone about it. Probably not. A bitter sigh escaped him. JT was a fighter, he reminded himself. He will make it, and he will come for him… Hopefully._

_In the meantime, he had to get rid of this tracker; they cannot find it on him. Malcolm took it out and carefully concealed it in the opening connecting to the backseats. Being hoodwinked slowed him down, but he eventually hid it and prayed that it won't be found. He prayed that he would be lucky enough, and the car won't leave the place after dropping him off, and he prayed that he can withstand what was coming until help arrived. If... it arrived._

> **Xday. XX: XX**

The specialist was summoned again. She walked the narrow maze-like corridors and back into the cell where her boss kept the prisoner. His hands were handcuffed behind him, and connected to a chain in the wall. He was lying on one knee, drifting into unconsciousness by the look of it, one of his arms wrenched in a weird position, shoulder looks odd… dislocated? She sighed, hating what she was expected to do. 

Mario Falcone was gone, and she was now the one in charge. She instructed her men to free his arms and feet, take off his shirt, and then gently lay him on the table so that she can push the bone back in its socket. She took his wrist in both hands and proceeded with the FARES method, carefully and methodically. 

The prisoner was shivering, his muscles twitching uncontrollably. When she started her process, his eyes shot wide open, and his breathing hitched. In a desperate attempt to free himself, he started wriggling on the table. The guards' sudden powerful arms held him down, and he immediately resigned and stopped trying, the effort too much for him. 

"Stay put. I am popping your shoulder back in place. If you move, you might ruin it." she instructed.

His pain glazed eyes searched the area, looking for her voice before he made eye contact. He nodded and whispered quietly, “Please... okay,” before he relaxed again. He managed to stay still the entire time, breathing through the pain, his eyes squeezed shut, teeth clenched. When his shoulder finally popped in place, she heard him gasp, his face contorting with pain, unable to stifle his outcry.

“Aaaaahh,” he whimpered, and a few tears rolled down his cheek. Going for her bag, she got out a sling and secured his arm close to his body. 

"Thank you," he said softly.

She stared at him, and all she could see was the gratitude in his eyes. It threw her off balance. Of all the prisoners she handled, no one had _ever_ thanked her. In fact, if given a chance, she was sure that all of them would have attacked and killed her for what she did to them.

Yet this man, lying before her, battered and bruised, was solemnly thanking her? He was thanking her after she painted him like a canvas for Falcone to stab at his leisure... 

She stood there, uneasiness filling her, as the guards pushed him to the corner of the room and wrenched his free arm above him to chain to the wall. 

“NO!” she found herself saying unthinkingly. They all looked at her, guards and prisoner, all confused by her outburst. 

"What!" one of the men asked gruffly. She stammered a bit, surprising herself with what came out next, "if you chain him up like that, you risk damaging that shoulder. Boss's orders were clear; he wants him healed for what comes next. Just- just leave him here and go."

They obeyed and left them alone. She looked at him and mused. He, however, gave her no thought. 

The prisoner sat there in the corner, shivering. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged himself. He was staring straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular, dissociating perhaps.

He looked so different than the first time she saw him, all hopeful and defiant. Falcone took that from him like he always does. Now she was just looking at the ghost of the man, another weak and pathetic victim, already broken… no? _Almost broken_. Falcone was not done yet.

The specialist retrieved his shirt and threw it back at him.

She lingered at the door for a bit, then she sneakingly left him a small bottle of water before she left. 

> **Thursday. 09:00 PM.**

JT tensed when he heard the door to his room open, fearing it was Dani again. She had just left a few minutes ago, armed with the new information he gave her and determined to waste no time to save Bright. He was grateful that she rushed out the moment he told her about the tracker and did not confront him and demand that he explains his unforgivable treachery. 

JT was not sure he would have given her an explanation. He did not deserve to explain himself, give excuses. He was not sure he would be able to look anyone else in the eyes anymore, either. There was no forgiveness for what he did.

It wasn’t Dani who came in. He sagged in relief. 

Tally wobbled towards him, eyes brimming with tears. She brought his hand to her cheek, her tears falling on it as she whispered brokenly, “I thought I lost you...” 

He freed his hand from her grip and cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed her tears away, as he looked longingly and carefully at her, taking in all her features, making sure she was there with him in the room. Unharmed.

"Are... you okay?... Did they hurt you?" he spoke, and his voice was rough and strangled with emotions.

“Yes, honey, we are okay. And so are you. We are fine,” she reassured him and planted a kiss on his forehead. Tally brushed her fingers through his hair. The familiar gesture was meant to reassure him, to put his mind at ease. At least it _used_ to do that in the past. Now he flinched and tensed. He closed his eyes and started shaking. He does not deserve her love, does not deserve any of this...

She instinctively backed away and looked at him with a pained expression, confused, wondering if she had hurt him unknowingly, "are you okay, honey?” she asked him hesitantly.

He was silent for a few moments, unable to speak, his heart aching. When he finally gathered the courage, he asked her, “Do you know what I did?”

Tally looked at him, and her shoulders drooped. She sat on his bed and held his hands again before she nodded. He closed his eyes as the tears rolled down his face, and then he started weeping, perhaps for the first time in his life.

“H-h-how... could you **bear** to even look at me…. **I failed you**. I - I betrayed him. I broke everything I ever stood for. How could you stand to..”

“Shhh... honey. Shhhh. You are a good man…”

“...I am a monster.”

“... A good soldier. And a _good_ friend.”

“...I am a traitor, a disgrace.” His voice broke, and he shook his head vehemently, unable to speak. 

She pursed her lips and let down a few tears of her own, "you had to make an impossible decision, JT. You are _not_ a lesser man because of it… A- and _you_ will never be a lesser man to me. You hear me? You will always be the brave and loyal man I fell in love with.”

“I b-betrayed him... Tally. I saw it in his eyes... And he might as well be dead. And the last person he would have ever seen was me… he _trusted me_.”

“No, he _will_ live. Malcolm Bright is a survivor and will make it through. They will find him...”

“I should have died... I don’t deserve to live…. I should have died,” he kept repeating brokenly. 

Carefully minding his chest wound, Tally cradled him in her arms, rocking him and rubbing his back gently as he continued to weep. " I know it is hard, honey. I know you had no choice. They will find him, you will see. But you have to forgive yourself first... before you can ask him to," she murmured in his ear, "shush my love. It will be okay. It will be okay."

> **Xday. XX: XX**

It was cold. So cold. Malcolm’s teeth were chattering as he huddled in the corner, trying to harness whatever warmth left in his body. The vent in the room had been blasting the room with freezing air for quite some time now, a very powerful refrigerant, he guessed. 

So will they freeze him to death? Is that Falcone’s newest torture? No. This was too detached a technique for Falcone, he thought dully through the throbbing in his shoulder. It was probably done just to inconvenience him, increase his discomfort while he waited for what’s next. An assurance that he would get no rest until he comes in again.

Malcolm had managed to gulp a few mouthfuls of water after the specialist left, the liquid filling him with life, hydrating his chapped lips, and numbing his aching body. He tried to wear his shirt again when the blasting cold shot through the ceiling’s vent, but each movement was pain and anguish. He was beaten, bruised, stabbed... exhausted, and sore. He soon gave up and settled for using it as a makeshift blanket.

He sat there, rocking himself and thinking about their last conversation. How many people were dead because of his mistake? How many had suffered while he thought the actual killer was behind bars? Involuntarily, he found himself revisiting the facts, doing the maths. 

It all made sense now. 

The Mafia’s boss having insatiable bloodlust and using his connections and position to kill anonymously while running an empire. How he made the mistake that enabled Malcolm to sniff him out. How his brother voluntarily took the fall, got sentenced to prison. How Mario remained dormant for years, trying not to arouse suspicions... until his brother died. 

The FBI assumed the new killer was a copycat, and when he heard about the case, he was inclined to agree. They were all fools. It was the same killer, after all, just more careful, more e _volved_. 

Falcone took great precautions, knew how to avoid all eyes, _hired a specialist?_ And he was back at his killings averaging at least one victim every two months. His stomach churned, trying to count their numbers. Too. Many. Victims... 

And it was all his fault. He sighed and a few tears made their way to his eyes. Maybe he did deserve to die here. 

He wondered how much more was Falcone willing to put him through before he _mercifully_ killed him? _No one said it will be merciful._

Would he give up and kill him if he did not break? Would he kill him if he did?

Didn’t he break him already?

Stop. Stop thinking. 

Despair was death. 

But what else was there? Everything he knew was shattered. His career was built on lies; He was a failure. His friendships were made of glass; JT betrayed him. His mission to save people was a sham; more people were dead because of him.

What was he holding out for? The question Falcone asked kept coming back to him.

_What?_

Stubbornness?

_Maybe._

Hope?

 _Oh_ _Please?_

Atonement?

...... 

_Yes..._

He must hold out and survive this. He must bring Falcone to justice, give peace to the families of those he killed. 

A sound echoed in the corridors, and his head whipped up, his eyes widened in disbelief.

_It can't be._

He moved, dragging his body to stand, every muscle protesting and refusing to cooperate. He used one of the dangling chains as his support, and after three tries, he finally succeeded. 

Malcolm turned around and faced the door just as it swung open. 

> **Friday. 5:00 AM.**

Dani’s hands trembled as she undid the bolt to the cell she believed Malcolm was in, the tremors were making the task exceedingly difficult. When she finally opened the door and looked inside, she let out a strangled cry of shock. Dani had been preparing herself for the worst, she was! Really. She even tried to remind herself that they might be too late, and they could find his lifeless corpse, instead. Yet, when she saw him, all her resolutions and preparedness vanished.

“Oh my god! Bright!!”

He was alive! 

Malcolm was standing there, leaning against the wall, struggling to stay upright. His face let up when he saw her, and he smiled, "Hey, Dani!"

"Gil! GIL! I found him, in here..." she called out and made her way to him. He tried to walk towards her, but he quickly lost balance and stumbled forward. She caught him before he hit the ground and then, they both easied to the floor. 

“Took you long enough,” he smirked, panting.

She looked fondly at him as she brushed his hair off his eyes and smirked back, "well...there was traffic." He chuckled quietly and winced as his weight shifted.

“Easy.. easy. The medics are on the way.” She assured him. 

Malcolm relaxed in her arms, and closed his eyes, blacking out. Apart from his ragged breaths, she would have sworn he was dead. He sure looked like it…

Dani was so taken back by the fact that he was alive that her mind didn't register how terrible he actually looked. Now as she held him so close, she noticed the bruises, the effects of torture, and the pain he was forced to endure. She could see the tales of suffering itched on every inch of his skin. Bile rose to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears as she inspected the damage. 

She could tell he was beaten, as evidenced by the bruises covering his bare chest, the black eye he sported, and the swollen nose. Bastards... 

Her mouth gaped in horror when she saw the stitches all over his body, some of which were torn open and bleeding again. She could feel her stomach twisting in anger as she put two and two together and realized that he was stabbed. _M_ _ultiple times._ That his wounds were then stitched so he won't bleed out, so that they can torture him again.

And then there was his shoulder, hanging limp in the sling. She looked at his pale face twisting with pain, his jaw muscles twitching. 

_What have they done to you..._

Behind her, she heard a loud gasp. Gil was here, hands over his mouth, eyes wide open in terror. He slumped next to them and cupped Malcolm's face like he was making sure he was not hallucinating.

He heaved in relief and held Malcolm in his arms, one hand brushing his hair soothingly, and started crying. 

The medics followed right after.

Dani could not believe their luck…

Malcolm and JT were alive!

_End of chapter 5_

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayy so this is the penultimate chapter! Next one wraps it all (fingers crossed)  
> I hope you enjoyed this one :D let me know what you thought!
> 
> Shout out to the amazing CeterisParibus for her input about the climax :P ILY<3


	6. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter!! *cries* lol! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy how it endss! 
> 
> Special Thanks to CeterisParibus for helping me bounce off some ideas about how this would go <3333 Thank youu girl! your comments and encouragement made this better!! :')
> 
> Ps: Please excuse any typos, I was too excited to share and didn't proofread it 50 times :P

Healing 

> **Friday. 12:00 PM.**

He had been looking at the walls for quite some time now, not thinking, just staring. It felt better like that sometimes, to be able to remove yourself from the equation, to be able to just exist but not live, inhale but not breathe, function but not feel. Maybe it was dissociating, perhaps he was meditating. In truth, he doesn't even know what it was, but it was helping him cope with what happened. 

The sound of the door opening made him flinch. He cursed his weak mind for breaking like that... _it wasn’t even that long of a period for it to affect him that much._

And yet it felt like it.

He knew that time is not a measure of pain and trauma, and that whatever happened to him last week, was sure to stick. Still, he was too hard on himself. 

Gil's steady steps approached him. He looked up at the old man and felt a twinge of guilt; he couldn't help but feel responsible for the lines of worry etched on his face, the tension in his jaws, the creases in his forehead, and the immense concern radiating from his eyes. 

Malcolm could see that Gil was somehow blaming himself for this, and it made his stomach churn. _Why was he feeling guilty for something that is_ **_not_** _his fault?_

“Hey, kid! They told me you were awake,” he was looking at him with a mix of pity, fear, and admiration that reminded Malcolm of that night twenty-so years ago; the night Gil knelt before him, gave him a mint green sweet and told him It will be okay. 

Malcolm managed a pained smile, “I am sorry I worried you, Gil.”

“Not your fault, kid,” Gil’s face tensed, "not this time...”

Malcolm frowned. Of course, they knew about JT, “so how did you find me? And what happened? I was pretty much out of it,” he admitted. 

Gil sighed. "JT told us about the tracker as soon as he woke up. We were able to trace it back to one of Falcone's cars. It had obviously moved since they dropped you off at this horrible place. But we were thankful that it had a built-in GPS, so we were able to track its movement on that night and to pinpoint your location," 

Malcolm nodded, "I couldn't risk them finding it on me," he teased, "maybe I should have swallowed it." 

Gil chuckled softly, “so glad you didn’t do that.”

Malcolm smiled back at him and said nothing. No words could describe the immense relief he felt or the happiness that was overwhelming his heart at this moment. He was so happy to be back here again, with Gil. A few hours ago, he was sure he would never see the lieutenant again. He was almost resigned that Falcone would kill him, that no one would find him in time. 

And although he wouldn’t admit it, a part of him was relieved that his mother and Ainsley were having a mother-daughter vacation on some exotic island. The thought gave him solace that they won’t have to live through the suspense of him going missing. And even though he could not spare them the rest, at least they won't live through the anguish of not finding him again. Falcone liked to flaunt his victims after he killed them; he was sure that his body would be found by the time they came back.

But that didn’t happen. They found him… 

Gil and Dani found him. 

Gil must have been observing his _not-so-subtle_ expressions because when he next spoke, his voice came out choked, strangled with tears, “I am so sorry we didn’t find you sooner kid...” a few tears fell, “ I am sorry they did these things to you, I wish I can take the pain away.”

"I am fine, Gil, you know me," Malcolm raised his uninjured hand placatingly, trying to sound nonchalant and light, "plus, I have high pain tolerance!" He gestured at himself, "this- this is nothing... I have had worse." 

“Could have fooled me,” Gil smiled sadly, “your shoulder will need weeks of therapy before you can use it well. Yo-your stab wounds were properly cleaned and attended to. The doctors were impressed..” his jaw clenched, ”they just prescribed some antibiotics to make sure they won’t get infected. But..”

“They will heal, so will the bruises, physical pain .. ca-can always heal,” he dropped his gaze, and suddenly felt cold, a chilling dread filling him. 

"What else do I need to know, kid? What else happened between you two?" there was a hint of guilt and pain hidden behind those words. Gil knew the profiler so well, and he could notice how his attitude changed so suddenly. Malcolm hated how transparent he was to the man, and how easily Gil was always able to read him. 

Malcolm sighed bitterly, “I wasn’t planning on hiding it, Gil. It was going on the reports for sure. H-he was the real killer, he told me I made a mistake six years ago. And I have to say I believe he’s telling the truth.” 

Gil gave him a puzzled look, “I know… you told me when we were in the ambulance. I figured you forgot, you were pretty much out of it,” he held Malcolm’s hand and cupped it in his. “We contacted the FBI. They are looking at him now, opening the old cases, planning to charge him for what he did.”

Malcolm nodded, feeling somehow relieved when he heard those words. At least Falcone will be brought to justice for what he did. Yet, somehow that relief was largely overshadowed by a much more profound feeling of guilt and responsibility that was threatening to suffocate him. 

Tears trickled down his face as he looked at Gil, wishing to find any reprieve in those dark brown eyes, anything to cling to, anything to save him from what he did. What he felt responsible for... “more people are dead because of me, Gil. I killed an innocent man, condemned him to prison!”

Gil started, the vehemence in Malcolm's voice, probably taking him by surprise, "Malcolm!" he said reproachfully, " Lorenzo Falcone was _not_ a good man, he certainly was _not_ innocent either. He might not have been the killer, but he was still involved, Bright.” 

"It doesn't matter, Gil." He said despairingly. He repeated, "it doesn't matter. Maybe he was bad. Maybe he deserved to be in prison. But the real killer got away. He was free to murder as he pleased. G—Gil, I took this job to save people, to escape my father's legacy. Yet, somehow I find myself responsible for more bodies…"

He took a deep breath, keened his sorrow as his voice broke, “how many other mistakes did I make Gil? How many people did I kill?”

“Malcolm, it is not your fault, those people are _not_ on you."

“It’s not my fault?” he retorted angrily, “Then why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like - like there is a brick wall resting on my chest.”

Gil pursed his lips before he grabbed a chair and sat by his side. He put a soothing hand on his arm, then held it tightly. It was a move that often helped Malcolm ground himself whenever he was too overwhelmed with emotion.

"Bright! You need to learn to stop blaming yourself for things that are out of your hands. This is like the whole issue with Martin all over again. And again, I will keep reminding you: You are not responsible for these lives just as you weren't responsible for those ones," he sighed. 

"This job. It's not easy. Sometimes you make the wrong calls. Sometimes you trip. But you do the best you can. You fall down and get up. You believe in your heart that you are trying... but mistakes happen. Everyone makes them Bright, even you, kid. It doesn't make you a bad person. It makes you human." 

Malcolm was listening to him while crying silently. He really wanted to believe those words. He really wanted to have this _guilt elevated_ . _God knows how much he’s carrying already._

Gil observed him for a while before he smiled, “ I remember a certain cop who once made a mistake. He trusted an overly cheery and nice man and accepted his invitation for a cup of tea. And if it wasn’t for a brave and young man, that officer would have died."

He looked at him earnestly, "because of this young and honest man, this officer caught a killer, and he became a lieutenant. He caught so many bad guys. Goodness is a ripple effect Bright. One act of kindness will always propagate.” 

Malcolm gave him a faint smile. It was a sad one, but a sense of pride was creeping around the edges, dethroning the overbearing guilt. 

"Remember all of those serial killers we found because of you. You did your best, you stopped them from killing again. What happened with Falcone was a grave mistake, and I am sure it will haunt you for a long time, but kid... You deserve to heal." 

Wise words, he thought. If only it was that easy to implement. He brushed his damp cheeks with the back of his hand and steadied his breathing for a few minutes. Gil was patiently waiting by his side, as always, giving him the time he needed. Malcolm could not sum up the gratitude he felt for this man even if he spent lifetimes counting. 

“How’s JT ?” he probed. 

Gil sighed when Malcolm changed the subject, but he knew better than to press him. 

"He's doing okay, thankfully the doctors said he will make a full recovery. He was lucky. If the bullet was an inch to the left he would have died. But they said he can be discharged in a couple of days."

Malcolm sighed in relief, “and Tally?”

“She’s also okay. A bit shaken, no one can blame her. But her pregnancy is fine,”

“Malcolm,”

“Mhmm?”

"Kid, I need to ask what happened that night in the warehouse."

Malcolm stirred, he tensed, “JT d-didn’t tell you?”

“We didn’t bring it up yet, I am asking you Bright. What happened?”

He fidgeted with the hem of the blanket and said nothing.

"JT said he wants to quit."

“W..What?” Malcolm’s head whipped up, his mouth hanging.

“He said he can’t bring himself to work in the force anymore, that he compromised his integrity and needs to step down,”

“He can’t do that... JT is a good detective. He has...he has a very high closure rate. Gil, you can’t accept it! Can you?”

“I can.. I don’t want to, but it’s his decision. I told him that he should think it over. Talk with you.”

“Oh.. “ he deflated. 

“Bright... I am not stupid. I can tell what happened that night. I also know why he did it. I am sorry, kid.”

Malcolm said nothing, he just pursed his lips and nodded. 

“I gotta ask though, maybe it’s too soon, but would you be able to work with him again? After this? Can you..?”

“Maybe .. I don’t know Gil,” he shrugged. Honestly, he didn't know if he could trust himself to work anymore either after what happened. But this was not something he was ready to share with Gil at the moment. 

“You need to think about it...” 

“I will...”

“ and you two need to talk..”

He nodded. 

> **Saturday 6:00 PM.**

The streets were buzzing, as was always the case in New York City. People were going about their daily lives. Some were working, some just strolling, others commuting, some just chilling. Malcolm always liked to observe people, discern their body language, guess where they were and where they were going, know what they were doing. Invasive as it was, he always considered it a good mental exercise for his profiling skills. 

But more than that, it was a habit he picked up whenever he was nervous. It was always easier to get out of his head and busy himself with a little guess and profile game. And now more than ever, he needed the distractions. 

"See this lady over there," he said, pointing at a woman holding her phone, "she's on the phone with her boss. He's asking her to do something she doesn't want, you can tell from the way she's holding the phone so tightly? He wants her to work overtime? See the way she keeps glancing at her watch. And now she's considering her commute options." 

Dani smirked, “You could tell all that just from looking at her?”

He shrugged, “it was all in her body language. Take that guy, for instance, see how he’s boastfully walking? I bet you he’s going on his first date and is trying so hard to appear confident..”

“Bright?”

"Mhm?" he looked at her expectantly.

“Stop diverting... How are you feeling?”

"I'm fine, Dani," he replied too fast, "I told you I'm."

She said nothing, frowned. He could tell she was clearly not happy with that reply. Maybe he needed to be more honest? He inhaled suddenly, wincing when the shift in his upper body resulted in a resonating pain in his shoulder.

"I admit, my shoulder is a bit sore. But I am happy it's my left one? Else I wouldn't be able to go axe-throwing again."

Tense silence.

His joke fell flat. 

He sighed and continued, "the bruises still hurt... mmm, the stitches pull a bit when I move, but they don't really bother me. Not really. Maybe the one where Watkins stabbed me does? But I think that's just the reminder of it? I just wish when the next psycho kidnaps me, they won't find it interesting to stab me a third time. Haha."

"Bright!" she scolded, and he was almost sure he saw something like tears brimming in her eyes? Was she _going to cry_?

"I am fine, Dani .. I really am. Nothing a few weeks won't fix," he replied gently.

She said nothing for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. The silence dragged as they sat in the car, none of them saying anything, only their heartbeats filling the silence. Malcolm could swear he was able to hear her heart beating against her chest. Its rhythm was angry and fast, distressed, but laced with sadness and fear. Or maybe that’s just his own heart. He was so lost in his thoughts that he started when she spoke next. 

"Ju-just don't do anything stupid like that again... and don't joke about it. Gil and I, w-we, were worried."

Something clicked in his brain as he looked at the female detective sitting next to him in the car. Dani was not acting like her usual self. He could tell by the way she held her shoulders, tense and agitated, the nervous energy she was giving as she bit her lips, and how choked she sounded when she just talked. 

Her extreme irritation when he casually dismissed his pain surprised him, and her deadpan reaction to his lame jokes that usually make her laugh, confused him. And now she was avoiding his eyes. He mused, putting two and two together. Was she...? 

“ _You_ were worried about me!” he stated, like the fact surprised him. 

She jerked, and in a panicked frenzy, she prated, "No, I wasn't. I mean, I was, of course, I was! But not like that... We were all worried." 

Now, as she looked at him, he could definitely see her eyes glistening. Malcolm bit his lips, feeling guilty for making her worry. What he would never admit under pain of death though, was that a part of him felt happy? Appreciated? Giddy? A part of him was euphoric that she, somehow, cared about him as much as he did about her. 

He put his hand on hers, and earnestly said, "I'm sorry... I am sorry you had to worry, Dani. But you know me. Like a cat. 7 lives and all! Nothing will happen to me, I promise!" 

Her shoulders relaxed, and a smile crept along the corner of her mouth for a few seconds before the sadness was soon to set back in. She was now fidgeting with her car keys. 

"Have you talked? ... I mean you and JT?"

"Umm, not yet... I don't think he wants to talk to me. I don't blame him. Not after what happened to Tally because of me. Not after I got him shot too."

Dani's eyes shot wide open in disbelief, then a knowing smile crossed her face, "trust Malcolm Bright to always find a way to blame himself." 

"It's just... I can't really blame him when I was the source of it all? You know? I don't know, Dani.."

“Bright, look at me. Tally’s kidnapping _is not_ on you. You can’t blame yourself for that.” She put a soothing hand on his arm, “and JT isn’t avoiding you because of that. I thought you knew, you are the profiler...” 

_You will answer me, **Profiler** , when I ask you a question. or are you enjoying the feeling of my knife twisting inside you?_

Falcone... He flinched when he heard the word, a feeling of loathing and fear was steadily creeping back. She lifted her hands and inclined her head in question. He shook his in turn, signaling that he didn't want to talk about it. She didn't need to know about what happened, that he would rather not be called that for a very long time. At least until he can forget or move on. 

“... he’s just ashamed of what he did, he thinks you won’t be able to trust him anymore. He thinks he doesn’t deserve forgiveness,”

“And what do you think ?”

“ _I think_ that it is not my place to decide that…” she gave him a thoughtful look, her eyebrows were creased in frustration, “Whatever happened between you and JT, is for you both to figure out.”

Dani ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes, "I am hoping that you can heal soon and come back to work. I wish JT would not quit. I want to act as if nothing happened, but.... but it _did happen_.“ 

she sighed in resignation and looked back at him, “what _I think_ is that there is enough blame going around, maybe it’s time for those wounds to mend.”

He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by her phone beeping, “It’s Gil,” she said. “there is a new case.”

He perked, eyes shined with excitement. 

"No, Bright, I will not take you. You can barely walk." 

“Ouch..”

“I am serious! You promised Gil. You just promised me you won’t do anything stupid again.”

"Fine fine. I'll see if JT would meet me."

She smiled, “you let me know now.”

> **Saturday the following week ~ 8:00 AM.**

It’s been a week since Malcolm got discharged from the hospital. Despite still looking like _shit,_ he had argued that he would heal better at home. He was grateful that Gil was on his side this time. Something told him that Gil understood just how much he wanted to feel the familiarity of his absurdly designed loft, his own bed, and sunshine chirping in the background.

It was a good morning. He had just come out of the shower, tottering barefooted in a comfortable shirt and his yoga pants, when his phone vibrated. 

Malcolm checked the message. It was JT. 

JT was downstairs! 

Malcolm quickly buzzed him in and moved around, tidying up whatever mess there was. Although he was glad that JT had finally decided to have the talk, he could feel his nerves tingling, his hand already starting to shake. 

When JT crossed the threshold, Malcolm stared. 

Whenever anyone came to visit Malcolm the past few days, they always made it a point to tell him that he looked like shit. 

He always joked that _obviously_ being held captive and tortured for a few days had to take its toll, but when he saw JT, he could have sworn that he looked as fresh as a daisy. While Malcolm was slowly working his way back, trying to heal, JT was dwindling away. 

The man was _a mess._

It was only a week, but JT had clearly lost some weight. His eyes were bloodshot and distraught. His usually steady hand was shaky, and his confident demeanor was gone. It was like he was ashamed to exist. 

The man's shoulders were slumped, he was refusing to meet Malcolm's eyes, and Malcolm could tell he wasn't sleeping. The guilt had been eating him the same way Malcolm's had been doing but more violently and noticeably. 

JT was too pure, Malcolm thought. This feeling of guilt was new to him. Malcolm, on the other hand, had experience, he thought bitterly; he had been feeling guilty ever since he was ten. Malcolm knew the pain JT was feeling and really wished he could take it all away, but how could he? "Pain doesn't just go away because someone pretends to understand you," Simon had told him awhile ago. And while he was technically the villain of the week, Malcolm was Inclined to agree. 

JT looked at the place for a few seconds before he nervously looked at the door again, debating whether he should even be here. He was clutching his cane in his right hand so tightly it was going to break. 

“How is the bullet wound?” Malcolm asked. 

JT shrugged, “I’ll live..”

Another silence. The tension was so heavy he could cut with a knife. But what was more visible, was the sadness. Here stood two men, each tortured by their conscience. But _maybe_ if one helped the other, both could heal. 

“Want a drink? I have Beer,” Malcolm tried again to break the silence.

"Yah... That's cool." 

They both sat, Malcolm, holding a glass of whiskey and JT's holding his Beer, his fingers toying around the bottleneck. 

“So, when did Gil say you could come back to work,” Malcolm tried for the third time.

JT stirred, “he -he didn’t tell you? I don’t think I am coming back... not after what happened.”

Malcolm bowed his head and said nothing. 

This time JT finally talked, “you know why I am here..”

“I do.”

"Listen, Bright. I have been thinking a lot about this conversation. The second they told me they found you, I had been debating what to say... and and I have been gathering the courage to speak to you ever since. But right now, I just feel so stupid because nothing I can say will fix it…"

He took a deep breath, "but you still deserve this. I just want to say that I am sorry. I really am. I am sorry I betrayed your trust and put you through this. I should have told you, let you in. But it was Tally, man. I couldn't think at all and I lied to you."

The more he talked, the more choked he sounded, the more he fidgeted, but Malcolm could also see that the shadows clouding his face were slowly fading. JT needed to confess. The weight of it had been holding him down, and now as he was sitting there, blurting out his apologies, this weight was slowly dissolving.

"I had a plan to get you back, I really did, b-but then I got myself shot, and you had to deal with it all. I am not saying this to be forgiven or excused, hell I don't even know why I am here now.." he raised his hands in desperation and clawed at his hair. 

"JT, it wasn't your fault…"

“Seriously...? Look me in the eye, Bright, and tell me you don’t hate me. Tell me.”

“I don’t.'' Malcolm shrugged before he replied gently, “Granted, I did feel bitter .. during the time, but I also knew why you did it. It’s your family. Besides, If you didn’t know me, Tally would have never been in danger in the first place. So in a way, I am responsible as well for what happened”

“Cut the crap man, this isn’t on you.”

"Neither is what you did... Look, I don't promise you that things will be fine. Or that life will be easy, moving forward. But... but just don't give up on the one thing you are good at. A wise man told me that if we don't make mistakes, then we are not human."

“Gil?”

"Yah... I am dealing with a lot of failures of my own," he mumbled dully, "Gil has been.. helping me."

“Tally’s been helping me too,” JT admitted.

“What did she say?” 

“She … _said_ that I have to learn to forgive myself before asking for your forgiveness."

“And do you?“

“Forgive myself? Nah, man… It took me a week before I realized that I don’t think I ever will… and so I came” 

Malcolm eyed him sadly, “I just want you to know that I don’t blame you. And I don’t want you to quit JT... Not because of this.”

JT nodded solemnly, “Thank you… I promise I will think about it.”

He relaxed, it was a good start.

“So, How’s tally?” he probed.

"She's okay. Still tense, and scared from what happened. They haven't hurt her, but the experience... you know. Plus, dealing with what happened to me. But she's a tough woman. We will get through it. I hope. Booked her a good therapist, the baby's fine too, by the way. They told us it's a boy." 

"Baby... Malcolm?" He tested, a mischievous grin lit his face. 

JT chuckled, maybe for the first time in a week, " I wouldn't hold my breath."

And in this moment, they both knew. They both knew that somehow things could still be salvaged. That despite their failure, despite the pain of the past days, healing was possible. Granted, they would both remain forever haunted by the ghosts of their mistakes. But there was hope.

And after all, as Alexander dumas once said.

_All of the human wisdom can be summed up in these two words._

_Wait and hope_

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank youuu so much to each and everyone who took the time to read this! You literally made this experience 100% better. 
> 
> It wouldn't have been such a blast to write if it wasn't for you guys and your sweet comments and encouragement <333 
> 
> And being fairly new to the fanfic writing world, you accepted me so fast and it was just so overwhelming. LOVE you all!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. :D


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